


Saudade.

by psyleedee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst, Architect Dean Winchester, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Exorcisms, Fiction, Fluff, Ghosts, Gothic, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Faith, Love, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mpreg, Musician Castiel (Supernatural), Mystery, Omega Castiel (Supernatural), Paranormal, Past Character Death, Possessed Castiel (Supernatural), Post-World War I, Pregnant Castiel (Supernatural), Religion, Sad Dean Winchester, Secrets, Sexual Content, Smut, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyleedee/pseuds/psyleedee
Summary: saudade(n.) a nostalgic longing for something or someone that was loved and then lost, with the knowledge that it or they might never return; "the love that remains".In the winter of 1934, the recently mated, young Winchester couple, Dean and his pregnant husband, Castiel, move into the Mullen Manor in the Somerset County of England. Sandover Company, Dean's architecture firm has assigned Dean the task of demolishing and rebuilding the manor from the ground up.However, things soon turn strange when Castiel realises the manor isn't what it seems to be. Old, stony and ruined as it may be, something dark, something strange, something foul lingers in the air of the manor. And it calls for Castiel. It speaks to him, it touches him, and yet, Castiel can't see it.Only when things get out of hand, does Dean realise, the house holds a grave, deep secret, one which should have been buried long ago, but now? Everything is unraveling. Each secret. Each mystery.And Castiel is right in the heart of it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Garth Fitzgerald IV/Bess Myers
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	Saudade.

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for swearing, sexual content, violence and non-graphic descriptions of suicide.

Horse hooves clopped against the smooth, stone pavement as a pair of stunning, black mares trotted across the ground, drawing behind them a large, polished-black carriage with red embossed sigils of the Sandover Company. Slowly, the carriage came to a pause, and the door on the side clicked open. Dean Winchester, an alpha with short, spiky blonde hair, and bright, green eyes descended from the carriage, and set a briefcase down on the stone pavement, before holding a hand out towards the carriage.

A slender, white-gloved hand slipped into Dean's, and out stepped his mate, Castiel, with one hand held against his slightly bulging stomach— doe-eyed and radiant, studying the world around him. A voice called out to them from the front, it was their coachman wanting to know if they needed help with the luggage. Dean walked over to him to speak to him for a while, but Castiel lingered where he was, simply drinking in the beauty around him.

Before him, stood a large, wide English country-house. A manor, spanning across almost an acre, with miles of deep, gloomy green woods on one side, and a long, gushing stream on the other, where Castiel could see a brick road leading into the village. The manor, in itself was a large beastly thing, with a rough, gray exterior which almost made it seem ancient, with its spires and turrets, one on each corner of the manor. Leading up to the large, slightly chipped rosewood door at the front was a flight of short, marble stairs.

As Castiel took a step forward, he felt a pair of broad, warm arms embrace him from behind, and he gave into the touch naturally, letting his senses breathe in the scent of his mate— a piny, musky, minty scent which never failed to charm Castiel, despite having etched every trace of itself into his mind for the past few years. Soft, plush lips pressed against his neck, and he smiled, letting his eyes flutter shut as he let himself loosen into Dean's touch. A trail of kisses pressed to his neck with every passing second, and Dean slid his hands over Castiel's round, prominent stomach.

"Do you like it?" Dean asked, resting his head against Castiel's shoulder. Castiel smiled, and opened his eyes, once again drinking in the sight of the manor, before reaching up to press his hand over Dean's jaw.

"It's beautiful," Castiel muttered.

"One day, it's going to be the most gorgeous hotel you've ever seen. And guess who's going to be responsible for that?"

Dean smiled against Castiel's face, and his hands wrapped around Castiel's stomach protectively. Castiel laughed, tilting his head to meet Dean's eyes, "-Hmm. I wonder who it could be. Certainly there is no one prominent who comes to my mind," he teased, and watched as Dean pouted, so endearingly petulant, Castiel couldn't help but grin wider. Absently, his eyes wandered back towards the manor, and he sighed.

"It's going to be lovely, Dean, I can tell already."

Dean beamed at that, and caught Castiel's lips in a gentle, heated kiss, where he slipped Castiel a sliver of tongue, and Castiel let out a tiny moan, hands grasping at Dean's ironed, grey suit, before Castiel pulled away, aware of the company they were in, and schooled Dean's sad, puppy-dog expression with a wide-eyed glare.

"Erhm," Castiel cleared his throat, and sent their coachman a polite smile, who to his credit, had been standing quietly at the corner with his eyes averted and a few suitcases beside him, "-you could keep those out here, mister."

The coachman nodded, and Castiel watched as he carried two suitcases at once, one in both hands, up the short flight of marble stairs, and kept them leaning against the stony, firm wall of the manor beside the large rosewood door. He traveled back and forth a few times, but Castiel couldn't pay him much attention, especially when Dean pressed a kiss to his jaw.

"I can't wait to show you the inside," he gasped and Castiel grinned at his excitement. The past few weeks had been stressful for Dean, what with having to settle into his new job at the architecture firm, Sandover Company, but Dean had pulled through, and his hard work had borne fruit. He'd been assigned the renovation of an abandoned English country house in the Somerset county of England. Of course, traveling from the States to England had been a bit hectic, if not impromptu, but once they'd arrived, the land had greeted them kindly, and they had melded into the new world with much ease.

Seeing Dean smile was one of the surest things to make Castiel smile, and he hummed into his alpha's touch.

"What do you think about Somerset? Think it's a good place to raise a pup?" Dean asked, a clear mischief lacing his voice, and Castiel sighed.

"I'm not sure yet. But it's a bit—" Finding a word apt to describe what Castiel felt— a dim, strange longing— proved to be much more difficult than he'd thought, and he let his words trail off. Lucky for him, Dean caught on, and began rattling off a list of adjectives, much to Castiel's amusement.

"Lonely? A bit empty? A bit gloomy? A bit scary?"

"I suppose..."

"Just you wait, sweetheart, one day, this manor is going to be bustling with people from all across the world. I'll make sure I make the most beautiful hotel I can, and I'll make sure our pup knows just how amazing his father was." Dean laughed, and pulled away at last, helping Castiel up the stairs, who rolled his eyes, and held a hand over his stomach.

"I'm sure the pup knows already, just how amazingly wonderful his father is." Castiel let out a soft grunt as he stepped onto the final, top-most stair, and Dean chuckled, still holding onto Castiel's waist to help him.

"Awh, ain't you a charmer."

Right as Castiel was turning to Dean to retort, the large, broad rosewood doors a few feet from them clicked and creaked open, and from within them, stepped out a man, a tall, gangly, lanky young man dressed in trousers and a sweater, with a muffler sitting atop his head. Upon seeing Dean and Castiel, his demeanor lit up into a bright, excited one, and he scurried over towards Dean.

"G'day, sir, m'Garth. I take care ov' the manor, ya' must be the Winchesters, yes?"

Dean let his mouth fall open as he turned to Garth, and sent him a wide, charming grin. He let go of Castiel's waist, and walked over to catch Garth's hand in a firm, strong handshake. Garth smiled, obviously charmed by Dean, for Castiel knew nobody was immune to Dean. Besides being an alpha, he was confident and self-assured, and Dean had such a big, bright presence, it was hard to not feel overwhelmed by his side.

"Yeah, this is my mate, Castiel, and I'm Dean. You could just call us by our names, that's alright," Dean said.

"Oh, that wouldn't be very nice ov' me." Garth chuckled, and hitched his frayed jacket closer to his chest. His eyes met Castiel's, and he sent Castiel a polite smile, before glancing down at his stomach. Castiel felt conscious for a moment, before Garth's eyes lit up.

"You're expectin'? Can I ask how far along you are?"

Oh, Castiel wondered, letting out a relieved breath, as he grinned and nodded. "I'm about nineteen weeks along. Four months, roughly."

Garth gasped at that, and then, with a clap of his hands, replied, "-same as my Bess."

"Bess?"

"My wife, she's expecting too."

"Oh?" Castiel raised an eyebrow, already excited, "-could I come meet her sometime then? I expected to be quite alone while Dean was at work, but it seems there could be someone I could befriend."

Garth chuckled, and nodded his head, "-of course, she'd love to meet ya' too, sir."

Castiel grinned, and his eyes wandered over to Dean, whose face was soft, eyes fixed onto Castiel with such tenderness in his expressions, Castiel couldn't help but flush under his attention.

"So," Garth started, clearing some of the thickness in the air, "-I've heard ya' wanna turn this ole' place into a hotel."

Dean's eyes snapped over to Garth, and he nodded, and followed Garth, who walked over to the front door, plucking out a large bunch of keys from the pocket of his jacket, and holding out a single, solid, iron key. He twisted it into the keyhole at the door, and Castiel watched, holding his breath, as the sound of the door clicking open resounded through the air, and at last, Garth pushed the doors open.

The moment Castiel's foot stepped across the threshold of the manor, a gust of wind— cold, bleak, sharp— coursed through the door and punched Castiel straight in the gut. Something odd, something strange lingered in the air, and he reached for Dean's arm on instinct, squeezing it to call for Dean's attention. Dean paused for a moment, and Castiel turned to tell him how uneasy he felt, as if something was churning inside his chest, but seeing Dean's face, he paused. Pure, unadulterated joy was written across Dean's face and at once, Castiel couldn't find it in himself to tell him. Rebuilding the manor from the ground up, owning the credits to creating one of the most luxurious hotels of the new world— it was everything Dean could ever dream of.

And Castiel didn't want it to crumble.

"It's gorgeous, ain't it?"

Castiel hadn't taken the chance to study the house, but with the way Dean gazed into his eyes, excited and _happy_ , Castiel nodded absently and let Dean wrap his arm around his shoulders.

"Very."

Dean smiled, and at last, let go of Castiel to join Garth a few feet away, who was speaking now, animatedly, with his eyes skimming around the manor.

When Castiel finally allowed himself to drink in the interior of the manor, he found himself absolutely captivated and rooted to the ground, unable to move a single inch.

Large, empty corridors extended into the corners of the foyer they were standing upon, and Castiel caught glimpses of strong, brown doors in every corridor. Standing before them, was an enormous flight of stairs opening up into the second storey of the manor. Above the stairs, Castiel could see a few more doors, and two other corridors extending into the sides of the staircase. As he twirled around in place, eyes trailing upon every minuscule detail in the house, he found himself strangely unable to tear his gaze away.

"Why would anyone want to ruin such a beautiful place?" He breathed out, and a hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his trance with a solid jerk.

"To turn it into an even beautiful place," Dean whispered against his ear, and pressed a kiss to his neck, away from Garth's eyes.

"—the country house used ta' belong to an Englishman who served in the first World War," Garth explained, and quirked his lip, "-I've heard his daughter used ta' live here all alone, one of the fairest omega beauties of the time. Was a shame she died young and unmated. Nobody knows how, but they found her passed away one morning. Poor girl."

"A woman died here?" Castiel asked, somehow curious about Garth's story, "-how did she die?"

"Like I said, nobody knows, but there's rumours. Bunch of em', about—"

"Whatever they are," Dean cleared his throat, and Castiel caught him sending Garth a forbidding glare, "-they're not of import. Garth, could you bring our luggage inside?"

Garth hung his head, obviously dejected, but obeyed any way, and dashed out the door towards their luggage. Castiel turned his head towards Dean, who pushed his suit jacket down his shoulders, and folded it across his arm. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, and with a sigh turned to Castiel.

"I'm exhausted. How 'bout we catch a nap for a while? Be good for the pup too."

Castiel smiled, and slipped his scarf down his neck, bundling the corner of it around his fingers as he hummed, and watched Dean trudge over to him. Their eyes met, and Castiel chuckled to himself before swinging the scarf around Dean's neck and pulling him down into a kiss. Dean yelped, surprised at first, then giving into the kiss, and Castiel's hands let go of the scarf, instead wandering up to Dean's neck as they hummed, and rocked into each other's touch.

"Or," Dean mumbled between a kiss, "-we could keep this going."

"Out here?" Castiel asked, as he pulled away, dizzy with Dean's scent engulfing him, hands still wrapped around his mate.

"Maybe once we find our bedroom."

Their conversation was cut short however, when Garth showed up, clearing his throat and carrying two, heavy suitcases in his hands. Judging by his lanky build, Castiel would not have guessed him to be able to carry the luggage in, but he seemed to have defied Castiel's expectations.

"If ya' follow me for a minute, I could show you the bedroom. But please feel free to use any room you'd like. After-all, yer' gonna' be living here for a while. The house's yours."

"Too big to be a house, though, isn't it?" Castiel mused, as he followed Garth up the flight of stairs. Before he could even take another step up, Dean was by his side, holding him by the waist and guiding him.

"What can I say?" Garth asked, as he waddled his way up the stairs, "-it never felt like a home to me. Usually, during the war days, the people would use this place as a guest house. Spend the night here before traveling on. It was convenient too. In the West, you've got the county, so there's the buzz of people, plus you've got the stores and the market. On the North, you've got the roads leading out of the county, into the rest of the country, and on the South, a few blocks down from the street, you've got the church—"

"We're not church people," Dean stated, pausing abruptly on one of the stairs, "-we don't want anythin' to do with the church."

Castiel knew why. He wasn't going to correct Dean.

"Right," Garth nodded, "-i'll keep that in mind."

They ascended the rest of the stairs in an awkward, strange sort of silence, and only when they had reached the top did Garth speak again. It seemed his enthusiasm hadn't wavered, despite Dean's incessant pestering and harsh tone. Dean had his reasons. Castiel knew. He wouldn't let his mind wander down the rabbit-hole of the _why_ and _how_ of Dean's behaviour, but he had lived by Dean's side, had watched how he'd lost his faith— no, how he'd realigned it. Castiel wouldn't question it anymore, because if he did, he realised he would not only spoil his own joy, but also Dean's. And he never wanted to upset Dean.

"So, this room right here," Garth started, and motioned towards a large, oakwood door a few feet away from them, "—one of the few rooms in the house with an en-suite bath. I've already had the room cleaned and freshened for ya', so you can rest for a while before dinner."

With that, he handed Dean a key, most likely the key to their bedroom, and stepped aside.

"The cook, Mrs. Mildred, she'll be here in the evening. She has a key to the house already, so don't jump if ya' find the lady in the kitchen. Besides that, if you need anything, let me know. I'll be right at yer' service."

"Thank you, Garth, you've been a great help," Dean smiled, and Garth's vigour seemed to have replenished at the praise. He smiled back, and headed for the stairs.

"You can send word through Mildred, or ya' can telephone me if you need anything. The telephone line has been fixed for ya'. G'day sir."

"Good day to you too," Dean said, and Castiel watched as Garth walked out of the manor, the door shutting behind him with a loud, clamouring bang which had Castiel jumping on his toes. He sighed, and turned back towards Dean, who had now busied himself with twisting the key inside the keyhole, and pushing the door open. He turned back to Castiel with a smile on his face, "-after you, sweetheart."

Their bedroom was as lavish as the rest of the house. Long, pleated, white curtains hung at the front of the room, framing the large, French window spanning halfway across the front wall. Opposite the window, stood the bed, furnished with the softest baby-pink silk sheets and pillows, and a huge, white net canopy hung above it— something out of a fairytale, and Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean, who simply smiled. Castiel wandered through the room, simply studying and familiarizing himself with the touch of the paintings hung on the wall, the small, round table at the corner with a grand, golden gramophone sitting atop it, the wardrobe which opened up into a smaller, narrow room, and at last, the window. The window overlooked the woods, the murkier side of the land, yet from above here, the woods felt much calmer and sober than they had before, and Castiel breathed in the scent of the leaves, before feeling a pair of thick arms travel around his chest and fidget with the buttons of his coat.

"Dean," he gasped, eyes slipping shut, as he felt Dean hum and press his lips to Castiel's neck. His hands were slow but firm as they plucked Castiel's coat off his shoulders, and let it fall to the ground. Dean pinched the tip of his fingers, and slid his white, satin gloves down, before linking their fingers together, and dragged his nose against Castiel's nape, pressing a trail of kisses to his skin as Castiel gasped and curled into his touch.

"How you feelin'? Hope the ride wasn't too bad," Dean asked, his voice soft, laced with concern and worry, and it tugged at something within Castiel, as he turned around in Dean's arms, and pressed himself against his alpha, as much as his swollen stomach would allow. He noticed how Dean's hands rested on his belly, instead of curling around his waist, as they usually did, and it made him smile.

"I'm alright. It's you I'm worried about."

"That so? Whatcha' thinkin'?"

A soft, pleasant breeze of air stirred through the room and kissed their skin, and Castiel let his eyes flutter shut as his head fell against Dean's warm, comforting chest.

"Nothing too harsh, just," Whether it was joy choking Castiel up or simply the bitter-sweet feeling of having moved to a new place, leaving everything old behind, he didn't know, but he did know he found himself unable to speak, and his words trailed off, "-I'm so proud of you, so happy, Dean, you get to live your dream, nothing could make me happier—"

"Hey, Cas, sweetheart," Dean whispered, cupping a hand over Castiel's jaw and urging him to look up. Castiel sniffled, eyes tinged with a glassy sheen of tears, and met Dean's bright, gentle eyes, "-you're here, I'm already living my dream. So don't you think I need anything else, kay'?" He flicked Castiel's nose, which Castiel guessed must have been red, and Castiel swatted his hand away with a fond smile, only for Dean to chuckle in his face.

They pulled away a moment later, and Dean flung himself face-first onto the bed, childish as ever, and groaned into the sheets. Castiel laughed, and let his eyes wander across the window and outside. A few steps forward, he walked over to unclasp the French window, and let the panes swing open, causing a thick, crisp gush of wind swirling in through the open window, and rooted Castiel to the ground, somehow rendering him paralysed as his eyes shut, and his mind— every single thought in his mind faded into the void, all he could comprehend was how _alive_ the wind felt. As if it wanted to speak. As if it wanted to scream. But it couldn't, it had no lungs, no throat, no mouth— but it wanted to make itself known. And Castiel wanted to know. What did it want to say? Was it for Castiel? Did he need to know? What was it about? Was it about the house? What about the hou—

A loud snore from behind him had Castiel jerking, and he blinked his eyes open, somewhat dumbstruck by himself. What had he been doing? Simply standing before the window? And what was he thinking? He knew he was trying to hear something, but what was it? Who was speaking?

Uncertain, he turned around to find Dean sound asleep on the bed. A smile curled at Castiel's face as he padded over to the edge of the bed, and twisted Dean's boots off, letting them fall to the ground as Dean snored away. Castiel undid the button at the top of his under-shirt, knowing how Dean hated the way it pressed into his chest, and at last, pulled the covers over him to let him rest.

He deserved it after all.

For hours, as Castiel slept through the carriage ride from London to Somerset, Dean had held him in his arms, watched out for any directions to give to the coachman, and compelled himself to stay awake, despite both of them being exhausted from the air travel. It was Castiel's first-ever trip on an airplane, although Dean had been a few times before already for his work. Pregnancy had rendered Castiel weaker than before, at least when it came to his body. He'd tire sooner than before, and his spine had begun to ache at times. Of course, the omega-medician had advised Castiel to not let it dim his spirits, since his pup was as healthy as could be.

As Castiel turned towards the door of the bedroom, deciding to let Dean rest and venture outside, he was reminded absently of the day he'd found out he was expecting. It had been a few weeks of constant nausea when Dean had scolded Castiel for not taking good care of himself, and booked him a meeting with an omega-medician. Of course, even when Dean had scolded him, his voice had never raised. He had simply held Castiel firmly by the shoulders, looked him in the eye, and told him, _'You wanna' make me happy? Take care of yourself, that's all you gotta' do.'_ And how could Castiel have refused that?

It had taken them guts to get where they were. It had taken them ounces of tears, blood and pain to find some semblance of normalcy, to be accepted. And only having Dean by his side, holding his hand as tightly as he could had helped Castiel pull through.

Finding out they were expecting a pup— it had been a miracle. A reward for the pain, the hurt and the despair.

Somewhere within his heart, Castiel wanted to thank the Lord for his love. But ever since Dean had given up his faith, Castiel couldn't find it in himself to keep his own. It would be nothing but treachery for his husband; utter betrayal— despite Dean having repeated, multiple times, _you can keep your faith, Cas, just don't ask me to._

A few tears slid down Castiel's face, and he wiped them away quietly on the back of his hand as he shut the bedroom door, and turned around the face the empty, palatial manor. It must have been quite a beauty, Castiel mused, back in its time. Although now, it was nothing but stony ruins. And yet, somewhere within these stony ruins, there lay something beautiful— something _so_ beautiful Castiel couldn't begin to comprehend it. But one thing he had realised— it wasn't joyful beauty. It was the sad, tragic beauty that poets wrote about, that lovers wept about.

_I've heard his daughter used ta' live here all alone, one of the fairest omega beauties of the time. Was a shame she died young and unmated. Nobody knows how, but they found her passed away one morning. Poor girl._

Who was she? The omega Garth had told Castiel about, the one who died young and unmated? Was it perhaps, her sorrow that echoed through the air in the house? Castiel couldn't say for certain.

Nevertheless, he brushed his fingers over the ivory railing of the staircase, and step-by-step, one hand on his stomach, descended down the stairs. Without Garth or Dean with him, the manor was empty. Standing in the middle of the foyer, Castiel let his sight wander around the chipped, roughened walls and the cracked, plastered fixtures. Now, devoid of his coat and his gloves, Castiel could feel the prick of the snowy air on his skin more intensely. He let his feet carry him, not having a determined destination to his venturing, and soon enough, found himself walking against the walls of the foyer, studying the broken, battered glass frames hung on them, the few shelves resting against them and the thick, layered dust atop them. On one such shelf, he found a book, and with how muddled it was with dust, it almost faded into the brown wooden tint of the shelf. It was leather-bound, and the moment Castiel flipped its pages open, a cloud of dust burst through the air and he ducked his head away to cough.

On the browning, frayed pages of the book, Castiel found—

_Notes?_

_Staffs and clefs?_

His eyes widened as he studied the ink on the pages— it was certainly sheet music, and for a piano at that.

Page after page, after page of music.

Which then had him wondering.

If there was a book filled with piano notes, was there a piano in the manor?

At once, Castiel's eyes snapped up, as if to watch out for something, and he trailed his eyes over each corridor, wondering which room he might find a piano in. Part of him wanted to check each room, study the inside of each one, see if he could find any semblance of life in any of the rooms, perhaps even a photograph, or maybe, simply a scratch of a nail on a desk— anything to convince him there once existed joy and laughter in the manor. Anything. He walked towards the staircase, deciding to rewrite the notes into his own notebook.

A few years ago, when he lived at the omega-shelter near the church, the pastor let him play the keys every Sunday, and once he realised how excellent Castiel was at the keys, he let him play whenever he wanted to. Often, Castiel would spend his nights in the empty choir room of the church, nimble fingers dancing on the white, ivory keys of the grand piano.

Right as he reached for the railing of the staircase, a soft creak pierced through the silence of the manor.

He had never taken a step though. Which could only mean the creak had sounded from somewhere in the foyer.

As he peered around the empty foyer to search for what had creaked, there came a slight _click_ , and Castiel's eyes snapped over _behind_ the set of stairs. His lips parted in question as he studied the wall behind the staircase. Surprisingly, he had never noticed the wall before, not even when he climbed up the stairs the first time. Carefully, he turned his course, and trudged over to the wall, where he now found, with wide, gaping eyes, a large, rosewood door.

It was wide, tall, and seemed firm, just as heavy as the front door of the manor. Could it perhaps be a back door? Leading out into the woods?

Footstep after footstep, quiet and expectant, Castiel tread over to the door, eyes glancing down at the large, glimmering brass door knob. Something about the door seemed to invite Castiel, and his feet carried him closer, and closer, and closer—

Until he stood right before the door, his hand inches away from the door knob.

The door seemed to be unlocked, and Castiel reached for the knob, anticipation thrumming through his veins, breath shallow, fingers numb and a looming sense of apprehension weighing his shoulders down, urging him to move back, and yet his fingers moved closer to the knob—

"It won't open."

Castiel jumped back, his heart pounding in his chest, only to find a woman, short and aged, with spiky white hair, dressed in a sober-colored midi dress, standing at the base of the staircase, watching him. The scent of tangerines, laced with something quite distinctly _alpha_ met Castiel's nose, and he let out a deep breath, reaching up to press a hand against his chest, where he felt a slight ache, as if something had been punched into his lungs. If Dean were to find him, he would surely admonish him for scaring himself in his state.

"Oh, how mannerless of me," The woman chuckled, "-I'm Mildred. I've been asked to cook here. You must be the Winchesters?"

She took a few steps towards Castiel, and at last, Castiel let himself relax as he walked over to meet the woman, Mildred.

"Right," He swallowed, trying to steady his breath, "-Garth told us about you. And yes, erm, I'm Cas Winchester. My husband, I mean, my mate, he's asleep."

Mildred smiled, and Castiel realised she seemed sweet, quite approachable. Her presence was bright and large, similar to Dean's. Perhaps she might be more of a dominant alpha. To Castiel though, she seemed quite motherly, and with the way her face softened at the sight of Castiel's swollen stomach, Castiel found himself at ease with her presence.

"My, how far along are you?"

"Uh, four months."

"Oh," She grinned, "-lovely. That's lovely." Her eyes dimmed for a moment, and Castiel watched as her shoulders loosened, as if she were dejected, "-The house could do with some laughter."

Unable to answer, Castiel hung his head and waited for Mildred to speak, which she did, with quite a change in her mood. "So, I'll get dinner going. You could wake your mate too, I'll get you boys one of my favourite stews, have ya' feeling fit as a fiddle."

Mildred grinned, and turning on her feet, commenced her walk towards the corridor at the far corner of the manor. It was a moment later that Castiel considered stopping her, and called her by her name.

"Mildred?"

"Yes, sir?" She turned around, meeting Castiel's eyes promptly.

"The door—" His eyes wandered over to the room behind the staircase, "—why did you say it won't open?"

"Oh, it's been locked for years. Some fifteen and counting, as of now."

Castiel stood, speechless.

"Impossible."

"Why do you say so, sir?"

"The door—" He swallowed, eyes flickering from the room towards Mildred as uncertainty spread across his body, "—it was unlocked, right now. I heard it click open. And I was just about to open it when you—"

"Sir, you might be confused. Perhaps, you need some sleep too. The door, after the young mistress' passing, the door has never been opened. The only way you could _possibly_ open it is to break it down, or unhinge it perhaps," Mildred said, and turned away, resuming her walk towards the kitchen. Castiel's eyes snapped towards the room, and back to Mildred. 

"But Mildred I—"

A strange, uneasiness lingered in the air around him, and he sighed, hands resting atop his stomach on instinct, as he stared at the door. His eyes wandered down, and he found it locked shut, not ajar as it had been a mere few seconds ago.

Was Mildred right? Was Castiel too tired? It wasn't impossible, in fact, Mildred seemed much more intelligent now than Castiel did. It was simply a sleight of his eye.

And yet. He could swear the door had been open, simply waiting for him to step in and explore.

But it wasn't anymore. Never had been.

Castiel sighed.

Perhaps, Mildred was right. He needed some rest as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm so happy to share with you one of my rare multi-chapter fanfics! This is one of my favorite stories so far, so I will be updating it soon. I expect about 10 to 15 chapters, but I can't be sure yet. This is a new genre for me, since I'm not a huge horror writer, although I am a huge horror/mystery fan. 
> 
> I'm super excited for this fic, and feedback is highly appreciated because I'm experimenting and would love to know your thoughts on this! 
> 
> Hope you liked it! 💖🥺


End file.
